Cosmic Commission
by Zaedah
Summary: Circular reasoning is his favorite variety of meditation. It just gives me a headache. [CharlieConstance]


Early in the season, before things got…more complicated for this pairing. Yes, I have given Charlie a (one/singular) piece of furniture. And no, it's not a bed...

**Cosmic Commission**

It's become quite the pastime, this watching him. Having a key to his new mansion helps my cause; not that the doors are usually locked. Attorney's stealth and observational skill aid my new hobby. But it's my heart that puts me just outside the doorway of the study. I watch him out of habit, like I did when there was a pane of bulletproof glass between us. Focus is ushered past mere admiration and I look for signs. But just as he did behind prison walls, he is a challenge to read. Seemingly so open to the world, the real Charlie lives behind a fortress of mistrust and self-protection. Only now a Zen shield replaces the standard cop walls. Some of this calm outer layer is truth. Some is a lie. Difficult to say at any moment which is which.

My focus, netting nothing visually, wanders to my conversation with Ted just moments ago. The financial guru advised me against junk bonds and disturbing Charlie. I wonder if Ted knows how much I dislike him. Not personally, really, but ethically. He may have Charlie's trust but I tend to clutch my purse a bit tighter around the former CEO.

Just as I had relaxed with his declared departure, Ted made an over-the-shoulder comment that I touch Charlie a lot. Too astounded to reply, I believe my mouth may have hung open in a nifty fish replica. Ted had waved a dismissive hand, saying I probably hadn't noticed. When words were finally possible, I think I babbled for a bit about how twelve years was a long time away from regular human contact. The only thing that came close was the frequent gang beatings he'd endured, a cop being something of a ginormous target inside.

Seemingly satisfied with this mostly logical excuse, Ted had meandered back to the garage, leaving me to internally voice the real reason. I sought contact more for myself than him; to convince myself that he was truly, physically here. And to indulge in what thick glass had prevented for 4 long years.

"You can come in, you know."

The sound of his voice startles me out of my contemplation. Not much more than a whisper, I catch the tease in his softly raspy tone and hold back the blush. His eyes follow me as I enter the still-sparse room with false casualness. A file lay on the desk before him, a grisly murder photo barely concealed under a coroner's report. I move around the lone set of furniture in the room to stand behind him. Unable to resist, I run a hand over his short hair, the red strands toned down to copper by a solitary lamp. I remember the first time I saw his hair in natural sunlight. I think I heard angels.

Leaning down, I rest my chin on his left shoulder and skim over the report he's studying. Grisly doesn't cover the brutality the first few lines detail and to avoid nightmares, I quickly stop reading.

"New case?"

He nods absently and a moment passes. I smile to myself, recounting his rambles about 'moments', which were endearing, if not confusing. Then, as if registering my presence for the first time, Charlie turns his gaze to me. His light blue eyes tell me he's tired and I consider how close to tomorrow it actually is.

"Why are you here?"

The concern I hear makes me smile. "Depositions from the criminally insane are no way to spend a day. I needed more rational company."

"Wrong place to be then." His eyes wander back to the file and I know I've lost his attention.

"Right place. Wrong time." I mutter to myself. The disappointment must have seeped into my voice because he closes the file and turns back to me.

"What's going on?"

Rather than delve into the many things Charlie and I don't talk about, I borrow one of his tricks; sudden misdirection.

"Come shopping with me tomorrow."

Confusion looks adorable on him. "Excuse me?"

"Charlie, you have no furniture. There's still nowhere to sit in either living room. And don't get me started about the dining room. And then there's the…"

"Alright. Point taken." His hands are raised in surrender. "Jaboticaba?"

I can only imagine the gymnastic contortion my face is performing. "Was that English?"

Politely holding back the laughter by biting his lip, he indicates the cup of grape-like fruit to his left. "It's from southern Brazil. Amazing how many interesting fruits supermarkets bypass. Had to special order." He pops one in his mouth. "Worth the effort. Brazil must be a sweet country to produce these."

"So…" I pluck a purple-black fruit from the cup to humor his addiction. But I stop short of eating it. Smells nice enough, grapy and oddly translucent. "So back to the furniture issue."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just hire a decorator? I heard people do that. Ted told me. Did you know they can arrange things to ensure the best chi? Properly flowing energies are very important. I can bring balance to my home and it will bring balance to me."

Rather than attempt to address fung shui at this ungodly hour, I pick up his initial thought. "Easier yes, but not as entertaining."

"Hmm."

The rare short reply, coupled with the downward direction of his gaze, tells me I'm about to lose my audience again. I straighten slowly and step around to the front of his desk, fixing him with a lawyerly stare. I'm not half bad at those.

"Tomorrow's Sunday. I'm off. And you need a break. Let's make some poor salesman's day."

Glancing at his watch, Charlie frowns. "Apparently it's been Sunday for 7 minutes." A sigh. "I doubt the victim cares if a salesman's day gets made. I'd rather make the family's day by catching a killer."

How can one argue with integrity? Since he's been out, closure has become quite important to Charlie. Everyone deserves the truth, he told me recently. I only wish I could give that to him. Maybe one day, we'll manage some closure of our own. And not just by solving the frame-up.

"So keep working? That's the prescription for today?" Less question than observation, I am both glad to see him so focused on real life, yet strangely disappointed. I could actually go for some Zen right about now.

"Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water."

I smile at the timing, answering my silent request as he does. "Meaning?"

He smiles back and I feel something well past 'friendly' stirring inside. "Meaning the world keeps turning. So yes, we keep working. The salesman'll work too. With or without us. Maybe a little less commission, but still…"

His eyes wander back to the mess on his desk. I wonder if his life is summed up by the quote. Cop before prison. Prison brings enlightenment. Cop after enlightenment. Circular reasoning is his favorite variety of meditation. It just gives me a headache. The fruit is finally placed in my mouth because he gave it to me. I will accept all gifts in all forms. There's no ethical conflict there.

Furniture shopping on hold, I depart. Climbing into my car, I keep the radio low and do a bit of meditating of my own. I consider what sort of cosmic commission I can expect for my work on Charlie's behalf. Is it lifelong friendship? And can I live with that? Maybe I need to pick up a Zen handbook on my way home to explore the universe's circular theory of unrequited…

…well, you know.

What goes around comes around, my mother liked to say. Such is the extent of my Zen. I certainly send enough affection toward this man. I'm waiting for the boomerang to swing back to me even as I know he already gives me what he can. I should be grateful and satisfied. I am neither. But I don't tell Charlie that. My domestic situation is a discouraging factor for forward progression in this relationship with my client.

Yet I see a day when something will break for us. I only pray it doesn't break us. No commission is worth that.


End file.
